Extra Eighth
by S.Zix
Summary: The question everyone's asking after Meteor and Holy destroy three-fourths of The Planet is "Who stole The Promised Land?"  Missing leg and self-respect, Cloud must go beyond his employment description and uncover the truth, or at least placate Rufus.
1. Zolom on a Stick

Challenge from Tyramir:

"A mystery story involving Cloud and Rufus in an almost 'buddy cop partnership' role. Feel free to not be serious at all, and make sure to include snarky moments and general hilarity, while still staying in character. Bonus points if it's an investigation that is not a murder. Must be post FFVII, but not involve any other canon."

I admit to cheating a little and poking fun at _Dirge of Cerberus_ for a paragraph.

**Chapter I: Zolom on a Stick**

The day Rufus Shinra hired Cloud Strife, he told him "You can finally become a useful member of society, now that your leg has been amputated."

The incident of Meteor Fall had halved The Planet's population, and the advent of Holy, necessary for preserving the remaining few, had ripped the tendrils of the Lifestream up from the ground to cut the number in half again. Some humans, having been infused with Jenova cells as a result of Hojo's experiments, had lost their heads, but still managed to flop around. The census committee debated whether they should be considered whole people, and agreed to count them as three eighths of a person unless they accomplished something worth distinction. One, Madison, managed to build a miniature replica of Midgar with his feet; he has been granted an extra eighth.

Cloud Strife, while not paralyzed, had awoken to a Lark's song of steam from Cid Highwind's rocket, Barret's gunarm across his chest. Most of AVALANCHE had made it—only Cloud and Barret had lost a limb, and Barret just got himself a new one from the pawnshop for Cait Sith's megaphone—by some divine providence or just because that had been _in space_ at the time. Either way, no one seemed to care but Rufus Shinra and the loan sharks in Gold Saucer to whom Reeve owed a total of nine hundred thirty seven billion gil. Cloud did not even bother to fathom the number of shitty fortunes he would have had to give out to accrue that kind of debt.

Speaking of the money, it had not been so lucky. Tifa wanted to interpret it as a lesson that one should not focus upon materiality, but the crash had seemed to melt or burn every single gil in AVALANCHE's possession. The flame had even shaved off all of Red XIII's fur to get at the coins he had placed between his toes and behind his ears.

It was easy for Tifa to say things like that though; she still had both of her legs, but Cloud had only ever been good at fighting—and even that was sometimes debatable. After two months of moping and drinking in Junon, now the largest city on The Planet since Midgar had collapsed under Holy, Rufus Shinra and his two remaining Turks had opened the door to Cloud's—actually, Earl's, but Cloud had started calling it his since he never paid for alcohol, and if he ever did, he'd probably own the bar too.

At first, Cloud had pretended not to notice them. He had sat at his bar stool, drinking his bottle of Midgar Fire—a new brew, very popular among former resistance members—and waiting for Rufus, Rude, and Elena to get closer. No other patrons occupied the establishment, and the radio played a song about the freedom imparted by death, "Tonberry's Judgment Taking Me Home." Cloud wished Reno had survived. He would have shot the speaker, at least. When Rufus got closer, Cloud downed the rest of his Midgar Fire and swung the empty bottle back, crashing it over the President's head.

Or that had been the plan. Instead, Rude deftly snatched the bottle from Cloud's fist and tossed it over his shoulder. The bottle clanged as it hit the floor. Cloud groaned.

"This is just getting depressing, Strife," Rufus said, sitting on the stool next to Cloud and ordering a glass of Corel Malt, a liquor so fine that the barkeep had to distill it on site. Cloud listened as it dribbled from the nozzle into Rufus' glass, wishing it were loud enough to drown out the President's voice and the song playing over the radio.

"Are you going to mourn your lost leg forever, or are you going to come work for me?"

"I won't come work for you." Cloud tapped the bar, and the bartender plopped another Midgar Fire down, sighing. "I figure I still got a month or so before a normal person would recover from an amputation."

"Who are you going to work for then? No one else will pay you the amount you need to help your friend."

"Who says I want to help Reeve?" Cloud snorted and wiped his mouth. "_He _still has his leg. He can help himself."

"Now you're just character-regressing," Rufus said, sipping his Malt. "Besides, no one but me will give you a job anyway. I still have power in this world: eighty percent of the available employment in Junon, and everything else is manual labor. Besides, you were a terrorist, and a pretty unsuccessful one. What kind of a resume is that?"

Cloud would never admit that Rufus had a point; the fact that Shinra still controlled the city made his escapades as a member of AVALANCHE sound completely pointless. It was as if he were trapped in the sequel to _Mog's Adventure_. The fact that Shinra even managed to retain control of The Planet's population at all surprised Cloud. Rufus had ventured back to Northern Crater after Meteor Fall to steal the crystallized mako and rebuild his empire only to find that Holy had reabsorbed it all into the Lifestream to unleash its devastating attack. The incident had left Shinra even harder pressed to find a leg to stand on than Cloud, yet the company remained resilient, surviving on taxes that went nowhere and a population that failed to understand the crimes the corporation had committed in the first place. At least the lack of mako up North managed to prove to members of Shinra that Northern Crater had never been The Promised Land.

"I'll be putting you in the best position to change the face of my company: Head of Human Resources. I have a lot of jobs to fill, and you may hire whoever you want. Even that Bordello Wallet fellow can have a job if he promises not to shoot the secretaries."

Cloud grunted and took a swig of Midgar Fire, fidgeting impatiently in his seat.

"I'll pay off your tab." Rufus waved a loose arm around the bar.

"I like my tab."

Shinra rolled his eyes. "Tab isn't a drink, Strife." When Cloud said nothing, Rufus frowned. "See, every time I _try_ to employ my father's tactics, nothing good comes from it. That's it, tired of Rufus? I'll show you Ruthless. I'm going to kidnap that little girl you all like so much, and _then_ you'll do my job for free."

"Can't you think of something worse than that?" Elena interjected. It's always, "'Kidnap the girl in the pink!' I swear, you try to come off as some evil murderer, but you'll never get out from under your father's shadow."

Rude raised his eyebrow above his sunglasses. 'Tonberry's Judgement' had gotten past the solo guitar riff and onto the second iteration of the chorus, "I look to the sky, and what do I see? The cute bugger lookin' at me! Swingin' his lantern over my bone china, Reminds me of your mama's big ol'—"

Rufus sighed. "Rude, shoot her."

Smacking his empty bottle of Midgar Fire onto the bar, Cloud drew the attention of Rufus and his Turks just as Rude drew his gun. "Tell you what," Cloud said, "shoot the radio instead of the girl, and I'll work for you."

The banjo cut in on the speakers. Rude did nothing, and Rufus glared at him. "You heard him."

Rude did as he was told, but the sound continued, distorted and screeching. Everyone in the bar covered their ears and ducked low but Rude, who shot it another time, and the sound cut. The radio fell from where it had been ensconced in the rafters, slamming against the bar and leaving a dent in the table.

The bartender looked from Rude to Cloud incredulously. "That's going on your tab," he said as he took out his rag and wiped around the black fishwire on the speaker, humming "Tonberry's Judgment" as he went.

* * *

As Shinra's new Head of Human Resources, Cloud hired indiscriminately. Able bodies poured in because of the job availability, and the fact that the employment forms did not even have a space to enter a name, let alone more in-depth background information. The Department of Biological Science had been replaced by a new Investigative Unit, run by a man sporting a paintbrush mustache and beady eyes. Rufus had dubbed him, "Franklyn," but Cloud knew his real name. It surprised him that Rufus didn't, but then he guessed that it made some sense, knowing Rufus' attitude toward human life.

Cloud had installed Franklyn as the second Head of the Investigative Unit. The first one had asked Rufus how he had managed to survive both the assault by Diamond Weapon and the christening of The Planet by Holy, and Ruthless—Rufus's alter ego who looked exactly like him in every way except that he wore a red hat, which rested on Rufus' desk whenever Ruthless refused to show himself for the betterment of mankind—had ordered Rude to shoot him.

Two more months after Cloud had taken up his position as Head of Human Resources, Franklyn and Rufus had come into his office while he sat at his desk and stamped employment applications. A man who looked drunker than Cloud ever remembered being—which sounded to Cloud a little like the tree falling where no one can hear it problem—followed, hiccuping. Instantly, Cloud recognized him as the man from the Midgar Slums, Sector Five, whom Aeris had called "sick." He still had the number two tattooed on his left arm, and this time, Cloud knew what that meant. Sephiroth clones, his very favorite.

"This man came with a job for the Investigative Unit," Rufus told Cloud.

Cloud jabbed another application with an approval stamp. "And?"

"I want you to decide whether or not it merits our attention." Rufus stepped back and prodded Number Two in the small of his back. He jumped forward, still hiccuping, staring around Cloud's office at the lamps.

"President Shinra, I really don't think—"

"It has been stolen!" the man cried suddenly. He forced his face over Cloud's desk and stared at him hard. His face looked familiar, but Cloud couldn't place it, and he figured the age lines around his chin, the breath that smelled of Midgar Fire, and the shorn hair had something to do with his absent mindedness.

"What has?" Cloud asked, shoving his papers into the lower right corner of his desk.

"The Promised Land," the man said.

Cloud looked at Franklyn, who narrowed his eyebrows over his beady eyes, then at Rufus, who crossed his arms and appeared to be clutching a wad of gil in his right hand.

"Well, there you have it," Rufus said. "_Franklyn_ seems to think this man's problem does not warrant our attention, but I feel differently."

"The Promised Land doesn't exist," Cloud said.

"There, you see." A smug grin covered Franklyn's face. He wiggled his nose, making his paintbrush mustache crinkle.

"That's simply impossible," Rufus said, tucking his hair behind his ear. "For one thing, you've been there, Strife."

"What makes you say that?"

"That Ancient girl, Farris. She must have taken you there on her pirate ship." Rufus waved his free hand dismissively.

Number Two had not moved the entire time. Cloud had instead leaned back in his chair to escape the smell of Midgar Fire. His left eyebrow twitched involuntarily at the mention of Aeris, but he had gotten used to it. Rufus used her regularly to attempt to manipulate him.

After a few moments, Cloud shrugged. He didn't care much either way what Rufus Shinra chose to waste his resources on. The Investigative Unit had sounded like a thinly veiled catch all for wild Formula chases and conspiracies anyway. "If you think someone stole The Promised Land, take his case."

Franklyn's jaw dropped as Rufus beamed. "Forget, for a moment, about whether or not it exists, how can someone _steal_ the Promised Land? It's a _place_!"

"Not my problem," Cloud said, reaching for his stack of job applications.

"It most certainly is." Rufus stuffed the money in his breast pocket as he spoke, straightening out his lapels. "Seeing as you know the most on the subject, you're going to help me track down the culprit."

Having predicted this, Cloud sighed. "I have only one leg, President."

"Does missing a leg prevent you from moving?" Rufus asked.

Pursing his lips, Cloud shook his head. He put a red stamp next to a PHS number for a new librarian.

"Does missing a leg prevent you from interrogating?"

"The girls were always better at that." Cloud stamped a new weapons developer into the Shinra fold.

"I'll pay back all of Reeve's debts," Rufus offered.

Cloud dropped the stamp. He looked at Number Two, how his blue eyes kept getting wider, and wished he could place his face. Of course Rufus would pay all of Reeve's debts if he thought he could get at the Promised Land. Cloud could point out that, if he really knew anything about the Promised Land, he wouldn't be working for Shinra, but he didn't care enough to contradict him.

"The Promised Land," Cloud said to Number Two, "is a place."

The man's eyes widened, and he nodded—or rather, lolled his head forward.

"And it's missing."

"_Stolen_," the man corrected.

"Who stole it?"

The man shrugged and smiled widely. He pushed his hand into one of his pockets and pulled out another wad of gil, which he then proceeded to drop onto Cloud's desk. Shinra made a strangled noise behind him.

Massaging his temples, Cloud looked at the gil and said, "I'm going to need a gun."

* * *

The gun Rufus Shinra dropped on Cloud's desk was a Shinra Issue Katmandu 5 with Prima specs. Cloud raised his eyebrow and shoved the small handgun into the trash.

"Hey!" Rufus said. He eyed Rude meaningfully, and the bald Turk stooped to fish through Cloud's waste basket. "That gun cost me a lot of money."

"It's a piece of shit," Cloud told him.

Shinra shrugged as Rude wiped a layer of yogurt from the barrel of the Katmandu 5. "Not exactly, but you might as well load it with one."

"Either give me a gun, or don't, but stop insulting me."

"We don't waste our good artillery on cripples, and I'm sorry. Otherwise I suppose if it isn't three feet wide and impossible to lift, you might as well not bother."

Cloud reached for his crutch and pulled himself to stand. He may have lost his left leg, but he could still command a certain amount of grace and respect when he straightened his posture. "Do you want my help or not?"

"I didn't want to say anything in front of the c-l-i-e-n-t," Rufus spelled, "but I think we've already solved the case."

"Have we?"

"_You're_ responsible, of course."

Cloud couldn't believe that he had not seen that one coming. "You think I stole the Promised Land."

"Sephiroth's dead, isn't he?" Rufus asked. "Who else could have done it?"

"My money's on the chocobo with the stethoscope, so tell me where he is."

Rufus blinked.

"Hojo," Rude coughed, pocketing the Katmandu 5.

Then Rufus gasped. "I can't believe you would accuse—"

"Don't act big, President, I know you've kept him somewhere. He can't be dead because he injected himself with enough Jenova cells to take over a planet."

Rufus held up his watch as if he were counting the time. His gape of horror remained fixed upon his face for five more seconds before he dropped the act. "Fine, but why would Hojo have it? If he did, by now he'd have a lot more peculiar specimens in his lab than he does."

"He doesn't have anything," Cloud said, "because the Promised Land doesn't exist. He just probably has something to do with this."

"That's exactly what the real thief would say."

Cloud looked to Rude, but he only pushed his sunglasses up further on the bridge of his nose.

"Just take me somewhere where I can get my own gun."

Turning for the door, Rufus said, "There's a smith at the Port. I can't believe I'm going back to that place, but you won't use anything _I_ make. The last thing I need is some zealot shutting down my Weapons Division because a cripple shot his mother."

Cloud used his crutch to hobble after Rufus, who held the bridge of his nose and said, "This is almost as embarrassing as having one of those dogs with the cones around his head. Please tell me you don't have rabies."

The once leader of AVALANCHE ignored him.

* * *

Junon's marketplace exuded more smells, more sounds, and more sights than it had when Cloud's AVALANCHE had first visited. Survivors all over the Planet had flocked to Junon after Meteor Fall to fill the void left by troops Shinra had ordered toward Midgar to buffer the impact of Holy as it hit the giant city.

The logic baffled Cloud too.

In the absence of a greater part of the military base, a bazaar of various wares shops ranging from the now rare materia dealers specializing rather suspiciously in "Steal" to booths full of dirty sink fixtures looted from the remains of Kalm, which had also suffered from Holy's rise. Cloud's (least) favorite stand served Fried Zolom on a stick. The impact of Holy had left a large crater that stretched to the old swamp lands. The basin had filled with life stream and water, where the Zoloms gorged themselves and flourished. Before then, someone had spotted the Zolom that Sephiroth had strewn up in the swamp tree, scorched by Thunder materia and considered it an excellent idea for a tourist snack in Junon.

Cloud had to question feeding crispy snake flesh infused by mako to the remaining inhabitants of the Planet.

"How's that one?" Rufus asked, keeping his arms crossed and nudging .22 LR "Shinra Day Special." "You're a terrorist, right?"

Perhaps, if Cloud had been eating some Zolom on a stick, he would spit it out in Rufus' face. Cloud scanned the booth, but found nothing he wanted except for a DioLite 15 Rifle he wouldn't have much use for; it would have been worth it just to make Rufus pay for it though. "Nothing," he said. "Let's move to the next one."

"You're not going to want a fancy machine gun fixed to your dead stump, are you?"

"It wouldn't be practical, no."

Rufus snorted. "Tell that to your friend, Wallet. Last I heard, he was commissioning a brain case on a rocket launcher. I'm so glad I realized that a terrorist must at least be smart enough to avoid lawsuits before I made my final hiring decision."

The next weapon's dealer they came to just happened to be Vincent Valentine. When Rufus and Cloud came upon his stand on Leather Belt Street, he ruffled his dusty cape and unleashed the unpleasant smell of which Cloud had grown rather fond. It reminded him of home.

No, seriously.

"Oh," Rufus said, "it's you. We should look elsewhere, Strife. I believe this is The Weapon's Dealer the Promised Land has forsaken."

"He's still on about that?" Vincent asked.

"It gets worse." Cloud's eyes darted to Shinra, still holding his wad of gil from Number Two. "I need a gun."

"While I appreciate the sentiment…" Vincent trailed off. A glaze not unlike the one in which vendors coated fried Zolom crossed his eyes.

"Do you have any recommendations? Hopefully without too much of a recoil."

Vincent continued to stare at Shinra. Cloud noted that he had been a little distracted—more so than usual—since he had vanished after Sephiroth-Jenova-Amalgamation-of-Horror (or The Great SJAH) had "died," and the Highwind took off. He and Yuffie had reappeared in some alternate reality known only as "Whinge of the Unnecessarily Flashy Hand Canon" and had to claw back using only their teeth. The details remained vague, but if one believed/could tolerate Yuffie for long enough to listen, it had something to do with a man named Nomura.

Come to think of it, she also used "Nomura" to explain Cloud's hair and enormous sword, though Cloud swore he had never consulted anyone regarding his appearance.

"I'm not going to kill the President," Cloud said. "I'm working for him."

Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Cloud, you know how I feel about suicide, but my circumstances are a little bit—"

"I'm not going to kill myself either."

Vincent did not look convinced. "Then why aren't you using something Shinra issue?"

"That'll be the day," Rufus snorted. "I may have lost some ground, but I'm not desperate enough to give a crippled man a gun."

Because, Cloud thought, emotionally stunted men like Tseng racked up much smaller body counts.

Instead of arguing, Vincent shrugged and reached under his plywood stand. Cloud imagined Vincent had a limited amount of objections he could allow himself every day. That was probably the only reason he agreed to join AVALANCHE in the first place. He pulled out a medium sized handgun, semi-automatic, painted black and chrome-finished. "This is a Douche & Mega-Douche Ultra-Douche Special .45 ACP."

"I'll call it 'Rufus,'" Cloud said, reaching into his pocket for the remnants of his last paycheck.

"You're naming your gun after me, Strife? Such foolish loyalty shall be quickly forgotten, so enjoy my appreciation while it lasts."

"Sure." Cloud picked up a box of "Magic Amo!Suspiciously, It Never Runs Out" and forewent all gun safety as he began to load his new Rufus. Immediately, he began to regret his naming decision, not least because any respectable man should not name his gun after another—well, man. "Rufus' Mother" was a much better name, as long as he kept it to himself.

"So," Cloud said, "where's Hojo?"

Rufus glared at Cloud. "What do you mean, Cloud? We aren't looking to reserve a Hotel. I don't think we need to bother Howard Johnson about something like this."

Vincent crossed his arms and looked sour underneath all his many layers. The green and red combo made him look like the Planet's deadliest Weapons had returned.

"I mean Hojo. The guy you're still keeping in a hole somewhere."

"Ah, yes," Rufus said, ignoring Vincent's increasingly pointed shoulders, "after Dark Nation passed, I felt it necessary to keep a new pet to fill the void. How thoughtful of you to remember that I've forgotten to feed him today. Let's go, Cloud. We mustn't keep Hojo waiting."

Rufus, using only the tips of his fingers to avoid dirtying his clothing, grabbed Cloud's shoulder and proceeded to drag him away from Vincent's stand in the bizarre. When they had escaped Vincent's earshot—which, granted, took about eight blocks—Rufus released Cloud and began wiping his fingers on a Fried Zolom salesman. The salesman, Cloud thought, looked much filthier than he did, as he seemed to have what appeared to be a turnip growing from his left ear.

"If he destroys any of the ice sculptures decorating my lawn," Rufus said, "I'm asking Ruthless to revoke your invitation to Franklyn's Birthday Party. Elena in a cake, Cloud, Elena _in a cake_."

* * *

_I'd really like some feedback for this one._

As of February 22, 2011, this chapter has been edited for the purpose of creating a more coherent plot. Yeah. No really.


	2. Miniature Lucrecias

**Chapter II: Miniature Lucrecias**

In a strange turn of events, life managed to make sense. Rufus Shinra confided to Cloud that, after the tragedy of Meteor Fall, the remains of the Shinra executives—namely, Rufus—agreed to confine Hojo to the Turk-discovered Sunken Gelnika below Junon. Cloud could think of no location more fitting than the dark and disturbing sunken vessel for a disturbing sunken-headed empty vessel with, well, dark hair. Unfortunately, Shinra also confided that the Shinra military had rounded up as many Sephiroth clones as they could locate and sent them down to Gelnika with Hojo.

So the world had made sense for all of ten seconds. What had he honestly expected?

"The futility of the efforts of AVALANCHE is really quite astounding," Rufus declared. "You didn't stop Meteor. You triggered Holy. You didn't stop Shinra. You didn't stop Hojo's research. How does it feel to be owner of the most uniquely ineffectual legacy since Ifalna Gast?"

Since most of the submarines had lost their engines in poker to Emerald Weapon, and no one had found a viable energy source to replace mako anyway, Shinra had had the science department devise a complex pulley-operated elevator controlled by Reeve's re-possessed, clockwork-operated Mog doll. Shinra seemed to find the whole thing rather amusing. He flicked back his hair and elbowed Cloud, making several puns out the corner of his mouth, keeping the rest of his face composed.

"It seems I've trans_mog_rified him."

"He's quite the _mog_ul."

"Reeve is rather _mog_nanimous to have provided this service."

"This is quite the _mog_ration, wouldn't you say?"

When the last elbow nearly sent Cloud sprawling forward, driving his crutch hard into the pit of his arm, he had a feeling he wasn't quite the target de_mog_raphic for Rufus' jokes.

Eventually, the elevator thudded to a stop. A metal creak greeted Cloud's ears, and for a moment, he felt convinced that the whole Gelnika would collapse. The mog waddled to the doors and forced them open, inviting in the smell of salt and rust which Cloud remembered so fondly. This time, the smell accompanied the stronger scent of sewage and a sort of spiced rotten turnip odor, which Cloud guessed came from unwashed bodies. Rufus fanned his nose discretely, not wishing to draw attention to the possibility that he could have had a bad idea.

The doors of the elevator jammed shut behind Cloud and Rufus. "Don't worry," Rufus said, "it won't go anywhere, and it won't open the door for anyone without the pass code."

Not knowing the pass code himself, but being smart enough not to ask for it, Cloud did not feel reassured. He gripped his gun and wondered if a one-legged body guard would suffice to keep the only person who had a chance of escaping the Gelnika alive when Hojo and Sephiroth clones were involved.

Just as Cloud thought of Hojo, he heard a new creak quite unlike that of the metal tilt of the once illustrious ship. Hojo tottered into view, his face greening, his hands up the sleeves of his now brown lab coat, his black hair slicked back by its own grease. His glasses hung tenaciously to his shaking head. Surprisingly, he did not smell, and Cloud guessed that this was due in large part to some sort of experimental manipulation of his genes which prevented him from emitting an odor. No doubt he thought it would get him laid.

Hell, maybe it did.

"Well, if it isn't my failed specimen and his pet cripple."

Rufus raised a yellow eyebrow and held his white coat closer to his body. "Surely your brain's been addled down here, Hojo. You never experimented on me."

Hojo wheezed and grinned. When he did so, Cloud observed that all his teeth shone eerily white. "Of course. My mistake. You've come for the inspection, Mister President?"

At this point, Shinra elbowed Cloud again. The foot of his crutch screeched as it skidded across the dirty floor of the Gelnika. "Actually, we were wondering about the man you branded with the numeral two. I thought you might remember him."

"Riight." Hojo grinned wider. "If you like, I'll explain everything. Just follow—"

"That isn't why we came here, Strife," Rufus said. "We're looking for leads on the stolen Promised Land."

Hojo, who had been, for some unknown reason, clutching his glasses, managed to snap them in two. "The Promised Land?" he hissed. "Someone found The Promised Land before _me_?"

Rufus blinked twice. "Excuse me, but that doesn't follow."

"Stolen implies someone found it."

"No," Rufus said, "it implies someone _stole it_."

Cloud found himself siding with Hojo. This disturbed him on such a deep level that he resolved to say absolutely nothing as the argument escalated.

"You see." Hojo could never pass up the chance to explain something. Even something as mundane as the process by which cats produced hairballs. "In order for something to be stolen, it first must be owned by someone else. Then this new party steals it. Do you follow?"

Rufus snorted as if Hojo had insulted his intelligence by asking such a simple question.

"Well, in order for someone to own The Promised Land, a previously undiscovered location, someone must first find it and take possession of it."

Rufus shook his head. "This is where you're wrong. If no one has found something, then the first person to stake a claim upon it owns it by right."

Hojo proceeded to polish his crushed glasses with a handkerchief white enough to match his teeth. "But then what happens when someone finds it? Who owns it then? You see, Mister President, if I may say, your argument lacks any enforceability. This very problem is evidence of that. If someone finds The Promised Land, you can't just say they've stolen it!"

"No one has found The Promised Land," Rufus explained, "except maybe Strife. It's possible Strife has, but in either case, it's been stolen. That's the problem. Now will you stop wasting my time with this nonsense? Someone has stolen what is rightfully mine, and I demand to find out who and get it back so that I may continue looking for it."

Cloud forgot himself. "You mean to say that you don't even think anyone's found it yet?"

Rufus pursed his lips. "For Shinra's sake, Strife, haven't you been listening? I just said that I think you've found it, haven't I?"

Yes, it was a mistake to say anything, for Hojo suddenly threw his hands up in alarm, then doubled over and began to hold his stomach and laugh. The way he did. All the fucking time.

"_Of course_!" He then flashed bright white, morphed into Toxic!Green!Gas!Hojo and slithered down the gaping hall he had started toward before. Shinra and Cloud exchanged glances and fed their pockets with their hands.

After a moment, Cloud cleared his throat, adjusting his grip on his crutch. "Let's—"

"If you say mosey, Strife, _so help me_."

* * *

As Rufus walked and Cloud hobbled the salty walkways of Gelnika, they began to notice that the once famously dangerous Gelnikan monsters had vanished. At first, all they could hear was the dripping caused by humidity and the oddly endless supply of oxygen. Cloud had always thought that some of the monsters of the Gelnika breathed Carbon Dioxide and some Oxygen, but with their apparent absence, he found himself at a loss—until he remembered Hojo lived there.

"Do you suppose he's turned them into plants?" Rufus scanned the ship, fingering the barrel of his long handgun.

Startled to hear his own thoughts projected by the Shinra president, Cloud swallowed. "Turned who into plants?"

"You mean what, and I mean Hojo's specimens." Rufus adjusted his tie.

Cloud recalled how the word had grated when he, Tifa, and Barret had scaled the Shinra plate to rescue Aeris. "Do you have to call them that?"

"Technically, you do too. It's in his contract. He took it one year instead of a pay raise."

At this point, Cloud noticed Rufus clutching at handfuls of his suit pants with his free hand. He kept them from grazing the slimed floor and exposed his hairy ankles. It was one of those things that made Cloud _want_ to turn away, but this action proved difficult in practice. Other such items included Jenova's free-floating head and Tifa Lockheart's ribbed nose.

Cloud had considered the possibility that he was gay, but then decided that the question wasn't actually relevant because he'd been on The Highwind, hurtling back to The Planet, at the time. Then he'd lost his leg and realized that the whole concept was pointless if he couldn't dance.

"Strife, stop staring at my legs."

"Yes, Mister President." Cloud instead stared at a strange black stain on the left wall.

"That's precisely why you'll never go far in life." Rufus shook his head.

"Excuse me?"

"When I asked you to stop staring at my legs, you didn't ask, 'What will you give me if I do?' It never once occurred to you!"

"Do you actually hear yourself?" Cloud asked, remembering the previous conversation with Hojo as well.

"Yes. twenty two over twenty." Rufus puffed out his chest. "Or was that vision?"

"You don't own The Promised Land any more than you own the sky."

"But I do own the sky." Rufus blinked several times as if this were obvious. "Father had Palmer draw up the paperwork for my fourth birthday."

Cloud wondered for a moment whether or not cats actually could catch one's tongue. Maybe the humidity had made his mouth heavy.

"Strife," Rufus said—Cloud had begun to notice that Rufus always used his last name at the start of a lecture—"things are there to be taken. In fact"—he scanned the rusting ship—"I hereby _order_ you to take something from the Gelnika. Do it, or I may just chop off Wallet's daughter's arm. Though that might stop all the confusion over her being white. I'm still not sure I understand. Some diner gave her to him?"

"I have no interest in—"

"You should be a pro at taking things!" Rufus dropped his pant leg and made a face. "You stole that Zack person's identity, didn't you?"

Before Cloud could respond, the most annoying word in all The Planet erupted from the creaking, smelling, dripping shadows of the Gelnika hallway behind the two men.

"Reeeuniooon."

"I hate Shinra," Cloud said without missing a beat. Nothing could make him sorry for it.

Rufus ignored the comment, slicked back his hair with one hand and drew his gun with the other. He and Cloud both turned around to find the source of the word and regretted it. Some years later, one of them would awaken and search for knives to force into his eyes. What had been seen could never be unseen. (Don't worry, though, he'll come to his senses in the end. No eyes will be lost.)

A bulbous continuum of once humanity took up the entire main hall of the Gelnika. Various colors and parts—Cloud concluded that he was not, in fact, gay at all—of bare flesh and drooling mouths filled the space behind the pair. At least fifty of Hojo's specimens seemed to have fused together into one mass, conjoined at odd places, including face-to-ass and mouth-to-foot. Twinkling eyes drifted between Cloud and Rufus who felt decidedly steak-like.

The President did not hesitate. He placed the muzzle of his gun to the nearest forehead, pulled back the hammer, and fired. Bits of flesh splattered the walls as a sizable portion of the creature ruptured. Rufus grinned, but success only lasted a minute. Before Rufus could pull his gun away, the wound began to repair itself, consuming the barrel of the firearm with it. When Rufus pulled the trigger again, no visible wound signs resulted. The gun remained silent and did not even seem to fire. Instead, every face on the body of specimens shone and began to chant "Reunion!"

"Run, Strife!"

Cloud did not need telling. Unfortunately, running with only one leg and a crutch proved rather difficult. He swung himself forward only a foot before Rufus turned around, disgusted.

"For Shinra's sake. _Fine_. You fire a gun, I'll run. It probably wants you anyway." Without another word, Rufus turned and sped down the hall, all concern for his pristine white pants forgotten.

Cloud found he could not fault Rufus for his actions. He probably wouldn't even wait outside a public restroom while Rufus took a piss, even if he had several hours to blow off. Cloud lifted Rufus' Mother from his side, swiveled on his crutch, and fired from a distance. The bullet entered the mouth of one of the specimens. The mass moaned and staggered a moment, allowing Cloud to hop backwards three times before he fired Rufus' Mother again.

He realized he probably looked idiotic, but that was about as relevant at the moment as the aforementioned questions of his own sexuality had been while he sped towards his supposed doom.

"Strife!" Cloud turned to see Rufus waving his hand around the corner. "Get over here."

Cloud fired one last shot at the giant amalgamation of Sephiroth clones before turning back and hobbling as quickly as he could toward Rufus. He had been without a leg for long enough to treat his crutch as a replacement, but his armpit hated him for it. When Cloud reached Rufus, he did not dare to look behind himself. He saw Rufus situated in a crack in the rusted wall of the Gelnika hallway. There seemed to be just enough room for Cloud to fit and for the two of them to stand back so that the mass could not do whatever it wanted to do with them.

"Move," Cloud said.

"What will you give me if I—"

Cloud shoved his gun in Rufus' face.

The President pursed his lips, but he made room for Cloud. "I am firing you after you take me to The Promised Land."

That sounded like a reward to Cloud, who managed to squeeze into the gap, forcing his shoulder against Rufus', just as the mass of bodies arrived.

"Reeunioooon!" the many faces sang.

"Is there a way out?" Cloud asked.

Rufus snorted. "You want a way back out _there_?"

Ideally, Cloud would have preferred to stay in Junon. "Yes."

"Reunion!"

"That's annoying." Shinra crossed his arms. "Poke it with your crutch. It might shut up."

"I'm not poking it with my—"

Rufus kicked at Cloud's crutch, sending his Head of Human Resources falling back into the wall. Sharp metal from the Gelnika forced itself into Cloud's back. He grunted, and Rufus snatched up Cloud's crutch, stuffing its end through the crack in the wall. It jerked in Rufus' hand as the creature pulled on it. Rufus, tripped, fell over Cloud and dropped the crutch, which disappeared through the crack. A sound not unlike that of a stuck garbage disposal greeted Cloud's ears as he imagined the mass devouring his crutch.

Cloud sighed. He hated the idea of resigning himself to merging with the dregs of Jenova cells, but it might not be so bad. All resisting Jenova had ever done for him was make him miserable. These clones seemed content enough; they had all the space in the world to slobber and say the same stupid word over and over again.

"Quit moaning," Rufus said. "It was stupid for you to have a crutch anyway. I'll buy you one of those bright red scooter things. Then you'll be a veritable force to contend with! We'll revive Palmer, and you can run him over."

Cloud often wondered why Rufus' sensitivity had not won him more admirers.

At that moment, the wall the two hid behind shuddered. Dust and splinters of metal drifted down from the ceiling.

"What was that?" Rufus asked.

The shuddering occurred again. Cloud looked toward the crack in the wall to see the mass of humanity ramming the opening. "I think it's—"

Another ram sent the fragile wall of the Gelnika bowing in closer to Cloud and Shinra.

"Sometimes I hate it too." Rufus pursed his lips yet again.

"Hate what?" Cloud had been otherwise occupied, wondering if he could make the monster go away by firing shot after shot in its many faces, or if that would just enrage it.

"Shinra."

Cloud did the polite thing to do when a man confesses something rather uncomfortable and ignored Rufus. He pulled back the hammer of his gun, gritted his teeth, and raised Rufus' Mother toward the crack.

Then, rather unexpectedly, the pounding stopped. A sound nearly as annoying as the word "reunion" settled in Cloud's ears: Hojo's creaking laugh.

"My, my, my," Hojo complained. "Are you done exercising my specimen?"

"It tried to absorb Strife." Rufus sounded indignant, but Cloud doubted it was on his behalf.

"Ah," Hojo said. "Well, you can come out now. Wouldn't that have been something though? After Jenova's will is destroyed, the failure's resistance is overcome by brute force."

Cloud did not know if he believed a statement Hojo might supply regarding the safety of any environment, but he preferred testing his luck to sharing the cramped crack in the wall with Rufus for the rest of his life. Cloud forced his head through the opening and noticed Hojo, standing hunched with his arms crossed, the mass of Sephiroth clones apparently sobbing behind him. As he wriggled through the crack and pulled himself to stand on his one leg, one of the clones lifted its head for a moment, but then let it fall, disappointed. Rufus followed in moments.

"You see, it's most interesting," Hojo said. "Jenova's will has been destroyed, but they still have the instinct for reunion. Otherwise, they've been reduced to a drooling mass. Most peculiar. Those who can resist, like you and I, are unaffected."

Hojo's confidence always made Cloud suspect the opposite. At the moment he had begun to wonder if Hojo would leap and latch onto Cloud's head.

"They will obey me—or you for that matter. They recognize us as the strongest cells."

"What about me?" Rufus demanded. "Why did they chase me?"

"They weren't chasing you to absorb you," Hojo said. "They wanted to eat you. It's been so long since any of us have…" Hojo trailed off and grinned.

Rufus and Cloud looked at each other again, much the same way they had after Hojo had transformed and fled down the hall.

"Ah," Hojo lamented. "Blonde's do have all the fun."

Rufus cleared his throat. "About my Promised Land."

"Of course!" Hojo ripped his left hand from his right sleeve and, before Cloud could react, jabbed a needle he held into Cloud's left bicep.

"Ouch." Cloud winced.

"I didn't have proper time to prepare you, but I had a feeling you wouldn't allow me if I didn't resort to these measures." Hojo's eyes actually twinkled. "Now, I have leads on both of your problems, Mister President. You see, I can tell you who has stolen your Promised Land and how you can find it once you get it back."

"Finally, someone is making himself useful." Rufus licked his lips. "Well?"

Hojo replaced the test tube attached to the end of the syringe with another as Cloud continued to bleed. "A man came down here asking about your Promised Land two months ago. I didn't pay much attention. He wasn't very interesting or useful to me, so I answered his questions—which I also don't remember or care to remember—assuming you had sent him. I suggest you start there."

"You suggest we start with a man whose name you can't remember and something you can't remember telling him." Cloud massaged his temples and missed his crutch. Hojo replaced the test tube yet again, and Cloud had begun to feel woozy.

"Few individuals have the security clearance to access Gelnika," Rufus said. "Only some of Shinra's partners in the entertainment business know the pass codes."

Cloud's eyes drifted to the sulking lump of Sephiroth clone pouting behind Hojo. "Don't tell me…"

Hojo removed the last test tube along with his syringe and tied a dirty scrap of cloth around Cloud's bicep. "There you are," he said. "Now, I just need to run some tests. If you'll come with me, I have my lab set up just around this corner here."

* * *

Hojo's new lab looked nothing like his old one. This one had many shelves piled high with strange mechanical toys. A metal Zemzelett juggling miniature Lucrecias sat on Hojo's workbench. Trick candles sat on one shelf. Playing cards painted Shinra red lined the floor. A pile of "Mad Scientist" board games propped the door. Somehow, Cloud found the idea of Hojo making toys almost as disturbing as the idea of Hojo experimenting upon humans, but at least the fact that entertainers had access to the Gelnika pass codes made a little more sense.

"You have him making toys?" Cloud asked out the corner of his mouth.

"What do you suggest I do with him?" Rufus folded the end of his left sleeve. "We have all this scrap metal resting on the ocean floor. This way, we can make some money from it."

"But aren't you afraid his toys might, say, cause children to murder their parents or impregnate each other for the sake of science?"

Hojo sighed. "The prototypes for those have all been failures so far." He pointed to the distant corner where a cardboard box vibrated beside a red and yellow mechanical cart.

Cloud wanted to distance himself as much from thoughts of the vibrating box as he could, even if it meant knowing Hojo's plans for him. "What experiments are you conducting on my blood?"

"These tests will determine whether or not you are fit to lead Shinra to The Promised Land."

Cloud and Rufus both groaned.

"It's _clear_ that he knows where—"

"I'm telling you, I never—"

"It's like watching an Adamantoise try to lie about its weight—"

"Why are you even listening—"

Ignoring both of them, Hojo lifted the lid to a green metal box and dumped all four test tubes of Cloud's blood inside. Then he began to wheeze and laugh so hard he nearly tottered into the table.

"It's all a farce!" Hojo said once Rufus and Cloud had both fallen silent. "I don't need to test it; I'm _saving_ his blood. Cloud is our messiah! He is the Son of Jenova!"

"This again?" Rufus clutched his forehead. "We've been through this. Jenova doesn't have children. Deranged scientists do, and then they brainwash those children systematically until they attempt to destroy The Planet. Luckily, Cloud knows who both of his parents were. The fact that you're even trying this again proves that you've learned nothing in seclusion down here."

"But _does_ he?" Hojo's eyes turned wide and bloodshot. "Do you know who your father is, Failed Specimen?"

"I thought Jenova was supposed to be a she." Rufus looked to Cloud for an explanation, and Cloud felt like pulling out all his hair.

"This failed specimen is the only person with a known mother and no known father. Think about it, Mister President. You have your father, and so do those women left in AVALANCHE, then there's Valentine, Wallace, and Highwind with nary a mention of parents, that Ancient with two sets, and Strife has a bimbo for a mother, but _no_ _father_. He's the only one! Don't you see? This Specimen, the son of Jenova, will lead us to the Promised Land."

"I'm starting to doubt this guy ever made sense," Cloud said. "Why did your father hire him again?"

Rufus narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Did you know your father?"

"Really? You're going to do this? Even if I had a father, you know Jenova had nothing to do with The Promised Land." Standing on only one leg without his crutch had made Cloud irritable.

"I'm just saying—"

"To Hell with this." Cloud drew Rufus' Mother, pointed it at Hojo's chest, and pulled the trigger.

To Cloud's astonishment, Hojo stopped laughing and fell to the floor in a lifeless heap.

Rufus' eyes went wide. "If you just killed my Head of Entertainment Development—"

"Relax, he'll get up." When he didn't, Cloud added, "I think."

Rufus rolled Hojo onto his back with his toe. Glassy eyes stared up at both of them.

"You're going to have to find me a new one of these, Strife, and it will be _hard_. If only Scarlet were still alive."

A wet substance landed on Cloud's shoulder just as Rufus finished his tirade. "Reeeuniooon."

Cloud and Rufus both craned their necks and saw the mass of Sephiroth clones looming over them, hungrier than ever, though strangely more bulbous looking. Teeth protruded, yellow and grainy, over lower lips. Raising his gun, Cloud fired again. The mass slumped behind them as Cloud and Rufus both exchanged panicked glances.

"_What have you done_?" Rufus demanded.

"I had no reason to believe Hojo would die." Cloud aimed Rufus' Mother and prepared to fire again while he stalled to figure out what to do. The way he saw it, he was in an even worse position than before, as Rufus had fed the mass his crutch.

"Do something!" Rufus ordered.

"What?"

"Hojo said you could control it, so control it!" Rufus waved his hands in the air as if demonstrating some complicated mechanism by which Cloud could control the Sephiroth clones with finger movements.

"Hojo was completely out of his mind."

"Well, are you the son of Jenova, or aren't you?"

"I repeat, _do you listen to yourself_?" Cloud rolled his eyes and managed to catch the red and yellow mechanical cart he had seen before in his field of vision. "Go try to see if you can get that thing to work while I buy you some time. Maybe it'll take us out of here." He fired another shot.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just run away and leave you here. I can always hire a new Head of Human Resources. Reeve has even less of a reason to say no than you do." Rufus crossed his arms.

"Because"—here Cloud swallowed; he could not believe he was doing this—"I won't take you to The Promised Land if you don't get me out of here."

"I knew it!"

Cloud fired yet another shot at the clones, thankful that he had suspiciously everlasting amo. "Just shut up and get the thing started."

Rufus did what he was told without further complaint. He hesitated at the front of the cart, screwing his courage in the face of mounds of dust. If he had to lose his suit, he would take the necessary funds from Strife's paycheck. It would only set the salary to negative one thousand for about a year. He climbed into the driver's seat and surveyed a dizzying array of buttons. Hojo had arranged yellow and red buttons in a checkered pattern, labeling none of them. Rufus, spurred by the sound of Cloud's continued firing, formed a fist and pounded down on the center of the cart's dash.

Nothing happened.

"What's the problem?" Cloud said.

"Too many buttons." Rufus, who had learned to make his career form pushing people's buttons, never thought he would consider this a bad thing. He pushed one of the bottom buttons, the red, and the screen transformed with a beep; the bottom buttons changed to red, and the top to black.

"What was that?"

"Nevermind." Rufus waved his hand lazily. "I think something's happening. Carry on."

Cloud felt sweat building up on his head. He fired another shot at the Sephiroth-Jenova-disasters and began to contemplate life's important questions. For example, what happens if suspiciously everlasting clips of bullets are falsely advertised? Perhaps the marketers never conceived that the quantity of bullets Cloud had been using would be spent? Another shell bounced at his feet as he fired again.

Suddenly, a precise clacking noise began behind Cloud. Ticking at a rate of two clicks a second, the cart sped next to Cloud. "Get in the car!" Rufus called. "I can't stop this very quickly!"

Cloud swallowed, willed as much force into his leg as he could, and leapt high into the cart. He managed to catch the passenger's seat with his empty hand and pull himself in. Then he raised his gun to fire again. "Go!"

"I didn't stop in the first place."

Cloud began emptying as many rounds as he could into the giant creature, which took up almost all the space in Hojo's laboratory. He started to regret not buying an automatic, as it simply took too long to clench and unclench the trigger. Perhaps he should have never stopped those finger exercises. Luckily, the amount of shots Cloud fired sufficed. Large chunks of flesh exploded, covering the walls, the floor, and Hojo's corpse, and the skin did not grow back quickly enough to obstruct the escape of Rufus Shinra's investigative duo.

"I forgot about turning!" Shinra jabbed at a button on the console of the cart, which distracted Cloud a moment from the large continuum of clones.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Rufus growled. "I'm playing chess."

A large square of round buttons stood out on the dash, some dimmed red and yellow, others lit up bright red and black. The coloring did give the board the illusion of a chess game. "Got it. Left." Rufus pressed an unlit button, and one of the red pieces took a black one. He then tilted to the left, grabbing Cloud by the shoulder and pulling him down with him.

"What—?"

Rufus released Cloud, who looked out behind the cart to see that they had turned left outside Hojo's laboratory. The bunch of clones had yet to follow, but Cloud kept his eyes trained behind them just in case.

"I've discovered that, if I want the cart to change direction, I have to take one of the computer's pieces."

"What happens if it takes one of your pieces?" Cloud ignored the fact that it seemed highly unlikely that Rufus would be able to figure this out on his own. He noticed a crumpled piece of paper in The President's pocket and rolled his eyes.

"It won't take one of mine. I was the Shinra Checkers Champ in my day."

Cloud suspected Shinra's title had more to do with his parentage than his actual skill. "Let's just suppose."

"Strife, how many times must I tell you that such exercises are entirely—right!" Rufus leaned into Cloud, pushing him down onto his right side as the cart narrowly avoided crashing into a flimsy-looking wall. Cloud sat back up and fired a shot at the pursuing creature just before they preceded it around a corner.

* * *

The checkers game continued in this manner for five minutes, and Cloud knew they had neared the elevator. They had gained quite a bit on the clone creature, as it had been out of sight for some time, and Cloud hoped that they would be able to use the extra time to reach the elevator and help the Mog crank them out of harm's way. Just as Cloud thought this, the elevator appeared at the end of a four yard long hallway.

As Cloud's luck would have it, however, that was also when he learned what happens when Shinra loses a piece.

The cart shuts down.

Rufus and Cloud's momentum came to a halt with a thunk as the cart stopped three yards from the elevator. Cloud would have to hope it, and there was no way he could make it if the creature still followed them. Even if he could, Cloud suspected that the Sephiroth clones would devour the tiny elevator before it left the Gelnika.

Either oblivious or desperate, Rufus threw open the cart's driver's door and started for the elevator. Cloud sighed, resigning himself to the horrible fate he had imagined trapped in the wall earlier—and admitting to himself that it would probably suck more than being unipedal _and_ a Shinra employee—opened his door and slid from the cart. As he did so, he noticed something unpleasant wedged into the seat cushions, lifted it, using his sleeve as a barrier, and pocketed it. If he made it out alive, he would try to decipher its significance.

"Reeunioon!" While Cloud had been pocketing evidence, the clones had emerged from the end of the tunnel. Only a yard behind Cloud now, they barreled toward him.

Hopping as quickly as he could, Cloud grabbed his gun and made for the now open elevator. Rufus stood inside, covering his eyes, which Cloud considered the pinnacle of helpfulness. In a moment, however, Rufus made two fists, gritted his teeth, and unexpectedly ran toward Cloud.

This surprised Cloud so much that he lost his hopping focus, tripped, and fell on his face. The floor bit into his chin, but Cloud doubted he would live independently long enough for a bruise to form. He clenched his eyes shut and turned onto his back, firing his gun three times in a trajectory he hoped would hit the monster.

When Cloud opened his eyes again, he noticed that none of the bullets had made purchase. The monster had, however, stopped pursuit. It stood in the center of the hall, not a foot from Cloud, all its faces pouting, all its eyes spinning in confusion.

In a few moments, Rufus stood above Cloud. As expected, he did not offer his hand to help his employee stand. "Why aren't they absorbing you?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Are you controlling them?"

Cloud managed to balance himself so that he stood on one leg again, slowly, hoping that he would not excite the creatures. "I don't know."

Rufus pursed his lips, staring from the clones to Cloud and back. "You're lucky I don't lock you down here. Let's go." He then turned and walked back toward the elevator.

"Stay," Cloud said before he followed Rufus, waving his gun at the monster, knowing again that he probably looked quite idiotic, but again, not considering it at all relevant.

* * *

On the way back to Junon, Rufus did not make another mog joke. Instead, Cloud considered his suspicious silence the appropriate time to bring up that thing he had found wedged in the seats of Rufus' cart. He pulled it from his pocket and showed it to Rufus.

"For Shinra's sake, I don't care what kind of underwear you wear, Strife." Rufus made a face at the Speedo Cloud held in his sleeve-covered hand.

"It isn't mine," Cloud said.

"Then why do you have it? I know I told you to take something from Gelnika, but I meant something that one might conceivably, you know, _want_."

"I think it might belong to the man Hojo said he met with about The Promised Land."

"Enough of this deflection." Rufus rolled his eyes. "I know you stole The Promised Land, and I know you know where it is. Hojo was obviously supporting his fellow mutant by making up that story. That means the underwear _is_ yours. Such a disappointment. I expected more from you."

Cloud took a moment to wonder whether his supposed choice in underwear or his choice in stolen goods upset Rufus Shinra more before he continued his argument. "It's an extra-large," Cloud said.

Rufus looked at the Speedo tag out the corner of his eye. "You're right. It isn't yours."

Despite the fact that Cloud had expected this reaction, he still felt curious. "How do you know what size—"

"Shinra is very thorough. We might not care what kind of underwear you wear, but we do care if we need a spare."

Cloud cleared his throat. "Right, well, I think I know whose it is."

"It isn't Hojo's," Rufus offered unhelpfully.

"No, but I think it might be Dio's."

"Strife!" Rufus slapped his hand over his forehead. "It's Dio's! He's stolen The Promised Land. _Dio wants to expand Gold Saucer into The Promised Land_!"

"You know, Mister President, you might have something there," Cloud said, refusing to argue the details.

The elevator then came to a halt. In true man fashion, Cloud and Rufus exited, an unspoken promise between them to never speak of the horrors of the Gelnika again.

Or, at least, until the next office party.

* * *

_Please take a moment to review._


	3. Cactuar Eating Contest

**Chapter III: Cactuar Eating Contest**

The thing about the Planet's Weapons is that they did not just calmly sit around and wait for flies to land in their jaws; they wreaked havoc. While the Gelnika remained hidden from Emerald in a bed of rock, the Gold Saucer stood prominently in the center of the desert, blinding onlookers catching bad sun and infecting all those nearby with a general sense of Planet rape. Since AVALANCHE had been too busy doing the sensible thing and stopping the end of the world to dick around and get strong enough to destroy Ruby Weapon, the Planet's greatest offense had a very long window in which it could begin to dismantle Gold Saucer.

Cloud waited patiently in one of the fuchsia seats of the lounge of The Official Shinra Blimp, ANewBus—Rufus confessed that he had always wanted to name a bus that, but his family had never bothered to own anything less elaborate than a sports car on one end of the spectrum and a tank on the other—for Shinra to add this to his accumulating list of AVALANCHE's failures as the two managed to cross the ocean and near the desert which once lay below Gold Saucer. Rufus put on his red "Ruthless" hat, ordered a glass of Corel Malt from his wait staff, crossed his legs on his ottoman, and opened The Daily Shinra.

Shinra had decided that one of the biggest mistakes his father had made was allowing the old Midgar paper to go without Shinra shoved in the title: an easy fix for the new Junon establishment.

In fact, Rufus had not said much of anything to Cloud since the elevator ride back to Junon from the Gelnika. He had said that he would make the arrangements to travel to Dio's new residence and enterprise, Bronze Deep Dish, and that he would be bringing Rude and Elena along because Cloud made about as good a Turk as he did a terrorist. Rufus had done all these things and met Cloud, wearing his red Ruthless hat, at the dock to board his ridiculous fuchsia blimp the next morning without another word. Cloud had only to conclude, as immature and irrational as it seemed, that "Ruthless" had decided to give him the silent treatment.

Only when he expressed this thought to Elena quite by accident—she had been spying on him while he talked to himself—she had corrected him and told him, on the verge of tears, that it was The Shinra Silent Treatment. She then begged him not to rope her into it because the last time it happened, it went on for almost a whole week, and she just _couldn't bear it_ if it happened again.

For his part, Cloud enjoyed it. He tried to enjoy it as covertly as possible, as, if he revealed any hint that he liked anything, it was the surest way to put a stop to it.

Thus, when Cloud had questions about Bronze Deep Dish, the replacement theme park which stood where Gold Saucer once did, he made a point to ask Rufus, and then wait for Rude to answer. "How did Dio recover so quickly from the destruction of Gold Saucer? I thought he had all his assets tied up in it."

Rufus licked his lips and turned the page of his newspaper as Cloud stared.

"Prison labor," Rude said from behind Rufus.

"How long?" Cloud again looked to Rufus.

"Couple years." Rude grunted and scratched his nose.

Cloud remembered that it had not been so hard to win a chocobo race. Plus, Dyne's death had made it easier to get permission. The last days of the Planet as it was had seen a rash of free convicts strolling along the beaches as easy fodder for Ruby Weapon. Maybe they were better off in prison.

"What exactly is at Bronze Deep Dish?" Cloud had assumed that it was much like Gold Saucer, only he realized that the gondola and some of the roller coasters may be harder to maintain without mako energy. Further, if the convicts no longer had the option of getting a free pass by winning a chocobo race, maybe the chocobo racing did not exist anymore at all.

"Gambling." As Rude spoke, the blimp started to descend. Rufus put down his paper and straightened the watch on his wrist. "You'll see."

"We're here to see Dio, Strife," Rufus said, brushing imaginary crumbs from his pants as he stood. "There's no reason to ask questions."

As Rufus left the room, Rude's eyebrows kneaded together.

"What?" Cloud asked, grabbing his gun and pulling himself up on his new crutch (Elena had drawn a bright yellow "C" on the arm rest as "her way of welcoming him back to the field").

"Trying to determine whether or not your silent treatment is over."

"Verdict?"

"I don't think so." Rude shook his head. "He won't resist a chance to lecture someone."

* * *

Bronze Deep Dish stood half-submerged by the desert sand, small cabin windows dotting the upper edge of a long, bronze rectangle. Cloud could not imagine that that much light found its way inside.

This sunlight deprivation seemed to express itself in the aggression of Bronze Deep Dish's patrons, all of whom easily found something to bet on: card games, eating contests, how high the sand would climb up the walls the next day, how many drinks it would take Barney to make it all the way through "Tonberry's Judgment," and how many times one might find the word "patricide" in _Shinra's Guide to Successful Cutthroatery_ by Ruthless Shinra. A patron could also bet on fighters at the new arena, which consisted of three twelve-by-twelve padded rooms, and almost no one put his money on the human contender. Cloud, Rufus, Rude, and Elena read these items from a menu at the front. The cheerful greeter had been replaced by a short woman with fat rolls poking out from under her little black dress. Her mascara dribbled as she took fifteen gil from Rufus for him and his Turks and five gil from Rude for Cloud.

The halls appeared to have been chiseled out by a drill the size of Proud Clod. Rufus' investigative unit navigated the spiraled tunnels as Cloud followed his map—laminated, fraying at the edges—toward the bar. Cloud knew that bars had bartenders who knew a bit more about how to get in touch with the boss than the face of the establishment. Silt occasionally drifted down on yellow lamp rays from the ceiling. Shouts could be heard in the halls. An assortment of individuals wearing berets, bowler hats, wife-beaters, or overalls frequented the tunnels. Cigarettes lit, whiskey flowed, and chatter tilled.

Eventually, the quartet did reach the bar. The smell of vomit wafted a little more obviously than was ideal. Walls retained the obnoxious bright gold color in homage to Bronze Deep Dish's roots, and each black cushioned seat had been embroidered with the letters "BDD" over a hand giving a thumbs up. Cloud hobbled up to the bartender while Rufus sat, flanked by Rude and Elena and still wearing his red hat, at one of the tables, glaring at his Head of Human Resources' back.

"I'm looking for Dio," Cloud said over the bar. "I've got something for him."

"Yeah?" The round bartender wiped moisture marks with a yellowed dishrag, pocked by crumbs. He did not bother to look up, but Cloud could see a black upper face mask covering the skin around the bartender's eyes just above his curled mustache.

"Do you know where I can find him?"

The bartender snorted, rolled his eyes, and wrung the rag into a bucket sitting by the Midgar Fire tap. "Sure, but there's no reason I should tell you."

Cloud sighed. He put his elbow on the bar and leaned closer to the bartender. "I'm here on Shinra business."

"Says who?" The bartender raised his eyebrow—which was when Cloud noticed that he didn't have any. It was a little disconcerting.

"I'm here with Rufus Shinra; he's right over—"

Cloud turned around to the table where Rufus had been sitting with his Turks, his feet crossed and resting on the chair next to him, his red hat tipped low over his eyes. The chair stood empty. Cloud scanned the rest of the bar and found nothing. There were a few men at the pool table; one had a mullet and no teeth, another looked like the veins in his eyes might be permanently enlarged due to constant alcohol consumption, and the third appeared to have forgotten to put a shirt under his overalls. Rufus would faint if he looked into the mirror and saw either of them.

"_There's no point in living if I can't be beautiful! Do you hear me, Strife? _ Do. you. understand. me?"

Apparently the silent treatment didn't work if the one on the receiving end spent so much time around Shinra that he heard him in his head.

"If you're going to tell me that one of those clowns is Rufus Shinra, I'll throw you outta' here faster than you can say 'But Bud, you're on candid camera!'"

Cloud rubbed his temples, leaning onto his crutch. "Just tell me where Dio is; he knows me. I used to be a big name in the fighting arena at Gold Saucer."

The bartender's eyes drifted to the missing left leg. "Sure Pal, and I used to be a body builder." He patted his rotund waistline for emphasis. Then he stopped smiling and dropped his hand. "Actually, I really did used to be a body builder. The years haven't been so good to me. Too many chumps comin' in here. It's too good not to hustle them. They like to buy me drinks, see, and I can't abide anything but Canyon Ale. Then there are those Cactuar eating contests. Damn things got more meat on 'em than you think, and if you have enough of 'em, they start to taste good. Then—hey! Free toothpicks."

Perhaps Cloud's face would get stuck like that—the narrowed eyes, the partially open mouth, the cheeks hollowed—and he could get honorably discharged from Shinra for injury on the job. He seemed to recall an honorable discharge clause on his contract; seeing something like that for the Head of Human Resources should have tipped him off.

"I'm going to go find my boss," Cloud said. "The Promised Land is his problem anyway."

The bartender dropped his rag. His eyes widened, making the lack of eyebrows even more obvious. "You know about that deal? You _must _be from Shinra." Then he shook his head. "Man. Fine, there's one way you can see Dio. I can't get you in without proof, but there's always the pit."

"The pit?"

"The pit." The bartender provided a solemn nod.

The men playing pool gave a low whistle. "The pit," they chorused. Further echoes of "The pit" could be heard outside the bar.

"Sure," Cloud said. "What's the pit?"

"You gotta' take on The Beret."

"The Beret?"

"The Beret."

Choruses again followed, this time punctuated by one of the pool players slapping his shot glass on the green table.

Cloud heaved a sigh and knew he would regret asking the next question. "What's the Beret?"

Gasps were heard in the room and through cracks in the doors. A general hush descended over Bronze Deep Dish. Cloud thought he could hear the desperate squeak of a cactuar.

"Don't ask. That thing will eat you alive."

"I guess I'll just go find—"

"Alright!" The bartender slammed his fist on the bar. "I'll tell you then. To the pit, boys!"

"To the pit!" the chorus sang. The bartender and the three pool players left the bar in a puff of dust; Cloud blinked and missed the whole thing. The bar door creaked in their wake.

With a sigh, Cloud decided he could look for Rufus later. He took the liberty of pouring himself a glass of Midgar Fire and hobbling his way out the bar. A general mass of salty bodies rushed down the hall, calling "To the pit!" and causing the walls to shake. Something told Cloud that, if he followed them, he would find the masked bartender.

* * *

While Cloud limped after bartenders and incited some form of mass hysteria, Rufus, Rude, and Elena had managed to locate The Poker Room—he would never admit that his interest had started when he originally thought it was "The Poke Her Room" or, for that matter, that he had only slipped off in that direction to show his distaste for having employed the son of Jenova. There he discovered that Ruthless not only looked excellent in red and white, but he also made a terrific card player.

"Look at that," Rufus declared. "Four Arthurs." He laid his two cards on the table and pulled the mass of chips to his pile.

The other men at the table groaned, and Rufus assumed that they had all been born without the requisite brain cells necessary to applaud him.

"Shall we have another hand?" Rufus asked. "I bet I can get the top five Knights, same color."

"Jim, I think this guy's cheating." A man with a curled mustache—Rufus figured it must be some sort of uniform at Bronze Deep Dish since the bartender had one, another man at the table had one, and the hooker-esque greeter at the front almost had one—spat Malbacco Chew into a ceramic dish.

"There's no such thing as cheating," Rufus said. "If someone doesn't get away with breaking the rules, he isn't good enough to win. I think I'm getting away with it."

"You do, do you?" the same mustachioed man said, rolling up his sleeves. "Jim, I think this guy _stinks_ to High Heaven. What d'you say we teach him how we deal with cheaters?"

"Really?" Rufus snorted, sneaking some chips from the second mustachioed man's pile while he was otherwise occupied. "Teach me a lesson? That's the extent of your witty repartee?"

"Mister President," Elena said from behind him, "maybe you should, I mean, well, not that I'm suggesting anything, but that is to say, don't you think you should avoid causing trouble? I guess you might want to, but I don't see how that will help us find—"

"Rude," Rufus said, "leash her."

"Later, Mister President." Rude lowered his sunglasses and stared at the second mustachioed man—Jim, Rufus supposed—who had also begun to roll up his sleeves.

After Elena fell silent, Rufus waved his hand back dismissively and looked to the first mustachioed man to deal another hand. "Well?"

"That's it." Jim had a high-pitched voice and the tattoo of Hades on his left elbow. "Surrender your chips, and you can leave with your dignity intact."

Rufus rolled his eyes. "As the President of Shinra Corporation, I doubt you could do anything to tarnish my dignity."

"You ain't the President of Shinra." The first mustachioed man stood. "He doesn't wear a red hat. Everyone knows that."

"Besides,"—a man in glasses leaned back in his chair, and Rufus realized that he was three times the President's girth and twice his height—"we don't like Shinra around here anyway. He ruined everything, and now he stays in charge. What has he done since the end of the world but fatten himself on empty promises? No restoration of coal. No nothing, and he's the only one with jobs for anyone. Those intellectual types at Cosmo Canyon are sayin' The Planet's still gonna' die, that mako reactors did too much damage. I might as well stay in prison. At least working for the man who put me in Hades below Gold Saucer isn't working for the man who ruined Heaven."

"I can't be held responsible for Heaven. I've never been there, though I hear it doesn't compare to cherry sundaes and a good charm spell." Rufus rolled his eyes.

Every man and woman—eight of the former, three of the latter—in the room stood and glowered at Shinra.

"Oh come on. I'm not Rufus; I'm Ruthless!"

"Sure you are," Jim said, sliding his hand across the table and knocking the chips to the floor with a shower of clangs.

Bang. Rude shot his gun into the air. A chunk of gold-painted plaster fell to the table, which buckled under the pressure and broke down the middle. Both halves fell together, kicking up dust and silencing any further complaints. Rude had his back to Elena's; she had also drawn her gun, and she pointed it at Jim.

"He leaves." Rude waved his gun in Rufus' direction. "You stay."

"Turks." The first mustachioed man spat Malbacco onto the floor. "He is Shinra."

Rufus, who liked to play cocky, but also thought himself smart enough to let his Turks deal with the boring malcontents, stood and sauntered to the door. As soon as he opened it, however, Jim shouted as loudly as he could.

"Shinra," he cried. "We got Rufus Shinra in the halls. He's wearing a red hat."

A mass of shirtless once-prisoners had been passing the Poker Room on the way to "The Pit" when Rufus opened the door. They all froze and turned to stare at Rufus. Of course, none of them wore any hats of any kind. The President knew that he could disappear into the crowd easily, even wearing a white suit with perfectly combed blond hair, but that blasted hat would give him away for sure. It was practically a beacon of malice. If he got rid of his hat, though, that would signify the end of Strife's Shinra Silent Treatment, and the son of Jenova needed to know the true pain of a life without Shinra's melodious voice, experience true punishment for once in his privileged life of terrorist luxury.

Decisions.

Self-preservation above all else, and all that nonsense. A shame, really. Shinra tore off his hat, becoming Rufus, and threw it to his right like a discus. "Look." Rufus pointed after the red hat. "He's turned invisible."

To Rufus' delight, the men closest him—only the foolish would dare get too close to such a dangerous man—fell for it. Rufus allowed the first rows to act as a barrier running in the opposite direction as he turned and sprinted away from the hat's travel. More than half still tried to get at him, but if a single man squeezed between any of the crazed fore-runners, they were unceremoniously trampled.

"The invisible bastard took off his hat." Outrage echoed behind Rufus after the hat had fallen to the floor. "Keep after him. We'll have to feel for him."

The throng component which Rufus passed propelled the line further in the opposite direction, curious over the commotion, but Shinra knew it would not last. He scanned the rusting bronze corridor. An "Employees Only" door stood conveniently ajar. Rufus supposed the room's occupant had slipped out to join the rabble or ravenous rousers and left it open. Taking advantage, Rufus dashed inside.

At first, Rufus could see nothing. He ran his palms over the bronze to find a switch and flipped it, but nothing productive sparked above him. Rufus could smell coal and grease. Horrid smell, coal. Rufus hated the stink which singed his sinuses. He missed mako.

The unfortunate side effect of forcing people to hate you is that they—well—hate you. Rufus did not care for people per se, and _he_ certainly hated _them_, but he did not like _them_ hating _him_. Even the people he paid didn't pretend to like him. If only they would do their jobs, he wouldn't have to walk about and bear the ire of the masses.

That's it. Rufus had only been thinking this way because a mob of probably the most dangerous unenhanced convicts in the world had chased after him. He just needed to give Rude leave to hire more Turks. Turks. The answer to every problem. Maybe he could get that busty woman from AVALANCHE. Sure, she had once been a terrorist, but Strife had proven to Rufus that anyone could buy—

That's right! Strife. Now that Rufus had decided to stop giving Strife the silent treatment, he would have no choice but to show his appreciation by liberating The President from his predicament. He just needed Cloud to use his mind control powers. Convicts might as well be Sephiroth clones, right?

Rufus had just come to this conclusion when a recalcitrant grumbling interrupted his thoughts.

"'oo's there?" the voice asked.

Rufus tried very hard to see if he actually could turn invisible, but, as Reeve often said, no dice.

"I says, 'oo's there? I know I 'eard sumthin'."

Aha! The mystery stranger had yet to spot President Shinra. Rufus may not be invisible, but he could sneak with the best of them. As his father had once said, "That boy is _slimy_." A compliment if Rufus ever heard one.

At this point, Rufus' eyes had adjusted to his environment. The silhouette of a work bench, wrenches, brackets, vices, table saw, a cheese and land worm sandwich—assumed so from the smell wriggling through coal clout—and what appeared to be a large metal hatch in front of him. Rufus could not spot the source of the voice, but assumed it came from the other side of the large metal pyramid that stood before him. He took his chances and leaped inside the hatch, not closing the door for fear the sound would give him away.

Just as Rufus rolled inside, however, the hatch closed. A black sheet covered Rufus' eyes. Then he heard a crunch, and a small amount of light started seeping through windows at the front of the hatch. As soon as enough light filtered through, Rufus noticed that he appeared to be inside a vehicle of some sort: a manual stick before him, embroidered foam seats, an undecorated dash covered in leaves of dust, a red light blinking behind a steering wheel, and an array of buttons and switches between the two seats.

Rufus was in a Shinra issue SOLDIER tank.

"Ah," the voice said, "I'll deal wit' you later."

Then the tank lurched forward, all on its own.

* * *

Cloud could not articulate how he managed to end up in his particular situation—at least, not in any way that would satisfy someone gauging his mental fitness—so he decided not to think about it. He stood in a circular arena, filled by—big surprise—yellow sand and rimmed by what appeared to be stands made from warped wood: black trees from up north, not the forests around Gongaga, which would have made more sense. Every patron of Bronze Deep Dish had crammed himself into that arena. Many were chanting "Beret! Beret!" ad nauseum.

The strangest part, of course, was what stood _in_ the arena. A giant yellow robot reminiscent in shape and size of Proud Clod flexed red talons. Bronze gears stood out on its chest, and Cloud guessed that Dio would at least claim that it ran by some form of clock work, or coal, or something. Maybe the man inside would have to pedal—which would be him, and Cloud had yet to think about how that would work with one leg.

Bud—Cloud guessed that was his name—had told him that Cloud would have to man the Scarred Harlot-yes, _Scarred Harlot_-against The Beret for the right to meet Dio. On occasion, Cloud appreciated extreme coincidences, but this was just ridiculous.

Cloud kneaded his forehead and hobbled toward a door in the heel of the Scarred Harlot. He closed it behind him, and an elevator shaft started to move, sending him up the leg. As he traveled, Cloud saw more gears churning, saw whiffs of steam wafting from the joints, and guessed that that's how the contraption ran—or pretended to run. Eventually, the elevator stopped. Cloud stepped off into a cramped room featuring a bicycle seat and, yes, pedals.

You have to be joking, Cloud thought, giving a pedal and experimental nudge with his crutch. Whistles below him gave a have hearted "toot" as the pedal fell forward and swung lamely back and forth.

He looked out the window of the Scarred Harlot and guessed that the small room was located in the head of the robot. Cloud shrugged and slid onto the bicycle seat, surveying the dash that sat just above his knee. A frayed yellow paper had operational instructions printed on it. Apparently, levers controlled the arms, legs, and positioning. The eyes shot lasers at the push of a button. The knees contained bazookas. A human _and _steam power combination was a front for mako if Cloud ever saw one. Where did Dio get it? Cloud had seen a few suspicious things in the bunker of the Glenika too, like the supposedly mechanical checkers-operated cart. Had the mako come from Hojo? If so, he had effectively shot the explanation.

"Alright ladies and gentleman!"

Cloud heard various snorts of derision as the announcer addressed them with what he guessed was a megaphone. He had to guess because he could only see in front of him. He stared at what appeared to be a bronze metal garage door. It started to rise.

"The contestants are ready," the announcer continued. "Today, Clot Strives will face off against the great and powerful 'Beret!' Can I hear some excitement in the audience?"

Cloud considered the question moot as the audience cheered and called lustily while he spoke, and the volume did not increase once he finished. At this point, the garage door had lifted completely, revealing an empty dark rectangle. Cloud wondered if the match was supposed to be to the death. If so, he should at least try to enjoy the last moments of his life. The interface of the Scarred Harlot did not seem very user-friendly, even for a man in possession of two legs. He closed his eyes and prayed to Holy. Or whatever happened to hear him.

As Cloud opened his eyes, the crowd's volume increased. Something stirred in the garage doorway. Amidst applause and cheers of "Beret," a giant tank, half the height of Scarred Harlot, rolled into the arena.


	4. Dyne Enthusiasts and Tankmen

**Chapter IV: Dyne Enthusiasts and Tank-men**

"And the match begins with smack talk," the announcer—well—announced. "As is tradition, the champion begins. Beret?"

As a voice came from the tank, its guns swiveled back and forth on the turret. "I'm gonna' fuck you up so bad, you'll hafta' call yer intestines ter tell 'em you're dyin'. I'll downgrade you so hard, your daddy'll feel it in 'is balls. That can yer ridin' won't even be worth recyclin'—"

As the voice coming from the Beret echoed, Cloud blinked. He had heard the voice before, but its source seemed so unlikely that he had to dig his fingers into his ears to make sure they were clear. As The Beret's humorously terrible smack talk continued, Cloud checked his digits for wax.

"—this dust will still be yellow; it'll just be the color o' yer coward's blood after you beg, and I refuse to show—"

"Barret?"

"Wait your turn for smack talk, challenger." The announcer cleared his throat.

"Cloud?" the tank driver said.

At this point, Cloud noticed that the tank even looked a bit like Barret: pyramid-shaped like his wide-jawed face, a black flag draping like a mustache.

"What the hell you doin' he—"

Before Barret could finish his question, the tank shuddered, and its turret began to spin in wide circles above the hull.

"What the fuck's that?" Barret's voice asked.

Great, Cloud thought, he had somehow lost control of his own tank. Shots began firing from the machine gun, ricocheting off the glass around the ring, the Scarred Harlot, and the Beret's armor, leaving white sparks and cottons of smoke and gunpowder to fill the room.

"It ain't me!" Barret seemed to beg forgiveness.

Cloud began looking for information on the shield function in the Scarred Harlot's manual in case the tank started firing something actually harmful. One of the guns mounted on the turret appeared to be some kind of energy ray. "Then who is it?" Cloud guessed it didn't much matter, but any information might prove useful.

"Some bugger musta' snuck inside the cock pit," Barret said. "I didn't tell you, but I'm actually the tank. They put my brain in here somewhere."

Just as Barret spoke, the firing stopped. The tank began to shudder again. The energy ray gun began to glow and vibrate, as if charging up. "That ain't good."

No. It ain't good at all. Cloud found the shield function: a black button on the left side of the Scarred Harlot's console. He slammed his fist into it. A light on the dash blinked, but nothing else happened.

Then, a crisp voice, which Cloud admitted sounded disturbingly like Scarlet's, said, "Please pedal to charge shield."

Was she _kidding_?

A clang sounded as bullets from the machine gun ricocheted off the Scarred Harlot's window.

Sighing, Cloud forced his one leg—not even one _good_ leg, Cloud thought—down on the pedal and began pumping his knee. It was a little jerky, and he had to cling to the console to keep from falling off the bike seat. All the while, the energy ray gun continued to glow brighter.

Great. Cloud was going to die because Barret, unlike a normal tank enthusiast, decided to become one instead of buying an old pre-mako, steam-powered Shinra model. Further, he hadn't bothered to disable the controls of his own body. Either some idiot didn't know what he was doing or had decided to take matters into his own hands out of fear that the match would not continue.

Cloud pedaled as quickly as he cloud, slamming the shield button at five second intervals to see if it would start, but Scarlet's voice gave no indication that the shield would be fully charged any time soon.

Strife stopped pedaling and slid off the seat. He grabbed his crutch from the ground and headed for the elevator. He'd have better luck if he could get out of the way before the gun fired, and Scarred Harlot was too big a target. That elevator had better move faster than it had on the way up.

* * *

Cloud just barely managed to escape Scarred Harlot's foot before the energy ray exploded from the gun barrel. He leaped as far as he could, using his crutch as leverage, toward the edge of the ring as white light filled the air above his head, singing his spikes. He closed his eyes as a piece of Harlot shrapnel whirred above him and sunk into the sand a foot from his face.

As the noise from the explosion cleared, the crowd whooped. The announcer, mercifully speechless throughout the preceding, found his voice. "In a strange turn of events, The Beret has a pilot, and the challenger has elected to leave the Scarred Harlot behind to avoid the inevitable bake. Our beloved robot is missing its mid-section, but the question is, could this match get any more exciting?"

"No," the crowd chorused. Cloud had thought the question rhetorical, but dared not say anything while he tried to play dead for the benefit of The Beret's driver.

"Get up, Strife. If I shoot you like this, it won't be any fun."

Rufus Shinra. Cloud supposed it made more sense than Barret's stint as his opponent, but did everyone he had ever worked for want him dead? Would Choco Billy burst through the tank's garage with a burlap sack of throwing knives?

"Shinra?" Barret roared. "Nuh-uh. This ain't flyin'."

"You have five seconds before I shoot you lying there. One…"

Cloud grimaced and pulled himself up with his crutch. As he stood, Shinra called "Five," and a bullet shot past Cloud's ear.

Why did Shinra have to know how to use a tank? Couldn't his father have taught him how to dig himself a grave in Bone Village instead?

Cloud turned around, and Rufus fired again. This time, Cloud had to hop right to avoid getting hit. The muffler around the machine gun barrel started spinning. Rufus must have decided to run the automatic again. He ran/hopped/hobbled as fast as his crutch would let him.

"Barret, can't you override him?" Cloud narrowly missed getting clipped in the [spiky] ass.

"Nah, this' never happened before." To anyone. _Ever_.

That only left Cloud one option. He took a deep breath and adjusted his trajectory so that he headed straight for the tank. The crowd gasped. Luckily, it took long enough for Rufus to adjust his aim, and Cloud remained ahead of the firing.

"What is Strives doing? Does he have a death wish?"

"Yes," the crowd cheered. Cloud found it less than reassuring.

He neared the tank, dropped his crutch, and jumped forward with more force than he thought possible for a man with only one—not even _good_—leg...

And fell. Face first in the yellow sand of the arena.

"Ooooh," the crowd groaned.

Cloud had only a few seconds before the gun hit him. He didn't have enough time to get up and try again, so he closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable destruction of his only remaining—not even _good_—leg.

Then, surprisingly, the firing stopped. Cloud opened his eyes and wiggled his leg to ascertain its continued usability. He stared up to see the gun smoking, pointing at a trajectory just inches from his foot.

"You're hopeless, Strife," Rufus said.

Spitting sand from his mouth, Cloud could not object.

A creak and slam signaled the opening of the tank's back hatch. Cloud helped himself to his feet just in time to see Rufus run from the arena and back into the garage. He no longer wore his red Ruthless hat, which meant that The Shinra Silent Treatment had ended, but somehow, getting shot at was completely acceptable. If Cloud could move faster, he would jump Rufus and begin wailing on him without mercy.

The crowd, meanwhile, seemed displeased with this turn of events. When it appeared that neither Barret nor Rufus would continue to fire on Cloud Strife, they began to boo heartily.

"'Ey. 'Ey!" Barret called. "I'd like to see one o' you get in that Harlot over there an' fight me. I say Cloud can see the boss."

This only made them boo louder, which seemed to annoy Barret. His turret spun, and Cloud remembered how his face used to turn purple.

Cloud took a deep breath and turned to see the remains of the Scarred Harlot. It did indeed appear to have lost its middle. Pieces of red chromed steel lay strewn about the arena, collecting yellow sand. Black soot hugged the hole in the middle of the Scarred Harlot. The fact that it continued standing amazed Cloud. He wondered if they remade it after every match. If so, energy source questions seemed to pile up. It seemed impossible that Bronze Deep Dish would be sustainable on anything less than mako. Perhaps Rufus knew—

_Rufus_. Cloud shook his head, clutching his ears with both hands, and grumbled. He gripped his crutch hard for good measure and hobbled out the arena.

Rufus Shinra stood in the middle of the garage, his arms folded. He seemed to stare with dismay at the handle leading out the garage and into, Cloud guessed, the rest of the Bronze Deep Dish. As he heard Cloud enter, his eyes drifted skyward, and he snorted.

"_That_," Cloud said, "is not covered in my contract."

"Article 18-b-dash-35," Rufus said. "Any Shinra employee may be used for target practice in the event that The President's frustrations with said employee become unmanageable."

Cloud paused. "It says that?"

"No, but you've given me an idea."

Cloud, who had spent most of his young adult life in Nibelheim learning that, if he hauled off and hit someone, he would get hit back, and it would probably be much worse than what his meager muscles could muster, clenched his fists, but went no further. Even though he could have slammed Rufus Shinra through the door at this point, he did nothing out of habit. "I didn't realize I could control any Jenova cells other than my own. I'm not going to apologize for it, and I thought we wouldn't ever talk about it again, so get over it." His speech finished, Cloud turned on his crutch and started hobbling back to the arena to see if Barret would direct him to Dio.

"People hate me, Strife," Shinra said, his voice even. "People actually hate me."

Wasn't that the point? Cloud thought. He remembered when Rufus took over the company and gave his speech about ruling by fear. Then The Planet had nearly been destroyed, three-fourth's of the world's population wiped clean, and mako withdrawn as a result. In the meantime, things had stayed barren and black with a little steam and coal here and there to provide heat, only no one could quite figure out what Shinra was trying to do with all its tax collections and weapon's development, or when the world would end, which it most certainly would eventually. Too much mako had been extracted. Rufus had turned every country into one of his own militaristically governed states; of course people hated him, and Cloud always figured that's the way he wanted it.

Cloud could have said any of this, and Rufus would have stood there and took it, possibly as some kind of affirmation. Instead, he leaned on his crutch and stalked out.

* * *

"I've got something of yours." Cloud placed a box containing Dio's Speedo on his desk. Gone were the fuchsia tiles and most of the collectibles. The podium bearing Dio's prized possessions had been replaced by a squat black desk. He stood behind it, sporting a mustache and a beer gut.

It should not have surprised Cloud at all to see Bud from the bar sitting in Dio's chair. The fact that the black upper face mask and wife beater had fooled him made Cloud want to take back everything he had ever said about Zammi! The Great, a swashbuckling superhero comic star the kids his age had wasted hours discussing and dressing as.

Rufus seemed to think nothing of it one way or the other. He spent his time prodding the Cactuar Eating Contest trophy from the year before to see if the spines were actually real.

"Ouch," he said, and he began to suck his index finger. "Rude, terminate the perpetrator."

"Later, President," Rude said. "I assure you that it won't get far in the meantime."

"What brings Rufus Shinra to Bronze Deep Dish?" Dio asked.

"Strife?" Rufus had pulled a satin kerchief from his pocket and covered his finger in its fold. Obviously, he had made himself too busy to answer Dio's question himself.

Cloud would have to do it, despite how ridiculous it was, again. "He's looking for The Promised Land." He sighed and began trying to brush the arena sand from his hair to avoid looking Dio in the eye.

Dio pursed his lips, twirling his mustache. "I'm sorry, but that's impossible."

Finally, someone who saw sense. "That's what I keep telling him."

"You signed it over to me fair and square. I won't let you go back on your deal."

As usual, Cloud's relief lasted all of a second before resignation set in. He had ceased to feel confusion, or even annoyance, just a thick frosting of apathy. "What deal?"

Rufus continued squeezing his index finger with his kerchief. Clearly, he would offer no help in this situation.

Dio looked to everyone in the room: to Cloud, to Rude, to Elena, and finally Rufus, who refused to return his gaze. Then he licked his lips and pulled out the right, top drawer in his desk. Because all company owners have a filing system that allows the most pertinent documents to magically appear as soon as they become necessary. He pulled out a piece of crisp paper and stared at it for a good two minutes. Cloud tried to stand on the toes of his remaining foot, but Dio pulled the paper still closer to his person, preventing him from snooping.

"You've still failed to provide the required military forces for getting rid of the natives. It's a regular Civil War. Us versus them C's," said Dio, still staring at the paper.

Cloud blinked. He knew his ears were clear because he had cleaned them in the Scarred Harlot. Maybe the sand from the arena—

"I'm sure it's a difficult war." Rufus snorted, rolling his eyes. He had tied the kerchief in a bow around his finger. White with a splash of red suited him. "My experience with Cetras, they flail around a lot, but the most they ever do is hit you with a stick and stand their while you try to stab them."

Dio saved Cloud from having to respond to The President's latest jab at Aeris—how did he even _know_ some of this stuff? "Cetra? What's a Cetra?"

"Caretakers and probable residents of The Promised Land."

"Which damn Promised Land are you talking about, Shinra?" Dio asked. "Because my Promised Land is occupied by those Corelites. Fools are getting aid from Gongaga, importing weapons by the truck-load. Cutting off each other's arms so they can fuse a gun on like my old Prison Warden had."

"Corelites?" Cloud broke his vow of continued apathy. He imagined Barret and Marlene stumbling upon The Promised Land and using the mako to build Scarred Harlots. What _would_ Corel do with all that mako? Build tents with saunas? Build mining tracks to nowhere? Giving a people so continuously screwed over by the rest of the world infinite wealth and happiness seemed a bit to Cloud like giving an Adamantoise a screwdriver.

Never mind the fact that Rufus would _never_ sign The Promised Land over to Dio. Even if he had too much alcohol. Even if his arm became possessed and he could not help signing everything placed in front of him. Even if someone else managed to find it and brand "Not for Shinra ever. Will fuck up your reactors" all over the mako and _mean it_.

Shinra leapt across the desk and grabbed the top of Dio's paper. He landed with his chest down on the black table, his legs kicking behind him, his hand firmly planted on the top of the paper, and pulled. Naturally, the document ripped. It tore into three strips, Rufus taking the center, Dio a piece in either of his fists.

"Shinra Electric Corp. hereby bequeaths the promised land of Northern Corel to Dio as reparation for the destruction of his enterprise, Gold Saucer, at the hands of a certain red scaly beast unleashed as a direct result of Shinra Electric Corp. activities, blah, blah, blah. Available resources for attaining this land shall be provided according to the following subsections, Section one-a, blah, blah, use of non-elite military forces, blah, blah, blah. In the event that this reparation is found unsatisfactory by Dio, he shall be subsequently executed by said non-elite military forces. His family members will be sold into slavery."

"I don't have family members," Dio said. "Gotcha'."

Shinra crumpled up his third of the document and threw it so that it bounced off Dio's forehead.

The owner of Bronze Deep Dish shrugged. "I got copies."

Rufus Shinra sighed. "Northern Corel isn't The Promised Land."

"It is." Dio stood from his chair, tall enough to dwarf Cloud and Rufus. "It's the land you promised to me, and I want it. When that guy"—he pointed at Cloud, resting his index finger on his nose—"said you'd come about it, I figured you were here to negotiate the resources you also promised, but then you started demanding it back."

"I don't want your filthy pile of…" Rufus sighed again. "_Fine_. I'll get rid of the Corelites. Strife?"

Confused by how easily Shinra agreed to comply with his own terms, Cloud did not respond immediately. "Yeah?"

"Take care of the Corelites."

That was it. That was pretty much Cloud's last nerve. Time and again, Shinra had called him worthless, and time and again, Shinra had given him ridiculous and impractical responsibilities. Like Hell he was going to even pretend to invade Corel on his own, up against a group of, by all accounts, mad Dyne enthusiasts and, possibly—if Cloud assumed Barret was an extremely unsubtle spy—tank-men.

"No," Cloud said. Reeve's debt could mop up itself for all he cared. Rufus could nag him until he turned blue in the face. Cloud wanted to go back to the bar and drink his Midgar Fire. Possibly swindle some convicts.

As Cloud headed for the door, Rufus jumped in front of him. Before The President could say a word, Cloud leaned his crutch heavily onto Rufus' toe. To Cloud's surprise, Rufus said nothing. Nor did he put his Ruthless hat on. He did, however, turn red, but all he did after that was close his eyes and let Cloud pass.

* * *

Cloud Strife had made it halfway from Dio's office to the bar when he heard Rufus calling after him. "Wait, wait! I have a proposition."

He kept hobbling.

"Elena, stop him."

A quick, "I'm sorry about this," signaled the end of Cloud's forward mobility. Elena's arms wrapped around his neck, and her weight bowled into his back. Cloud fell from his crutch and to the sandy floor. His cheek pressed against the grains, and Elena rested on his back.

The Turk then got up and offered her hand. She had a bridge of red across her cheeks. Cloud shoved her away and pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning on his left hand. He glared at Rufus - who happened to be wearing Dio's upper face mask, for some peculiar reason - as he approached, Rude trailing after him.

Shinra snatched up Cloud's crutch and held it with its rubber foot to the floor. He shook it slightly, indicating that Cloud should grab onto it to pull himself up. The once leader of AVALANCE ignored this second offer of assistance. "What do you want?"

"I want the ownership of The Promised Land back where it belongs." Rufus licked his lips. "My most promising lead is gone, and all I have left is you, my suspicions, and Hojo's ranting. This result is far from desirable, but it essentially amounts to this; I want what you want, Strife."

"Then you can give it to me," Cloud said, "by going away."

Rude chuckled. Rufus blew a yellow strand of hair from between his eyes and ignored his Turk. "You must have noticed the mako in Gold Saucer. Dio's using, and I bet you want to find out how."

"I know how," Cloud said, "but Hojo's dead. That's where it ends."

Rufus rolled his eyes as if to say, _and whose fault is that_? but refrained from voicing his opinion for once. "Dio must know more than that, and I think he'll give up what he knows if we let him have Northern Corel. You have connections. That Wallet fellow."

That Wallet fellow who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be working for Dio. This thought amused Cloud so much that he almost laughed. Barret obviously thought himself a clever spy. "I'm not going to try to get Barret to give up Corel because you think I'll take you to The Promised Land. Where are his people supposed to go?"

"I don't know! Everywhere. Haven't you ever heard of a Diaspora?" Rufus crossed his arms and tapped his foot, handing off Cloud's expectant crutch to Rude. "Fine, then. Join Corel and see what they know, but I'm telling you, it's less efficient."

Cloud pursed his lips. He hated this: not having a leg, sitting on the floor, and being forced to listen to Rufus Shinra because someone as slight as Elena had tackled him in a manner possessing less conviction than a Magic Pot asking for a Potion. For one bleak moment, Cloud felt as if he could blame his entire situation on the crash of The Highwind, his lost leg, his lost ability to get any job he _actually_ wanted. Maybe, if he could do something without his leg, just this once. If he could find out where Dio was getting his mako and _how_ without his leg, then his life might not suck as much as it did at that very moment, sitting on the floor of a gambling hub and staring up at the crotch of the President of Shinra Electric Corp.

It took only a second for Cloud to reach for the crutch Rude held and pull himself up. "I'll talk to Barret," he said, and hobbled back toward the arena.


End file.
